What's in a Name
by Kaoru2.50
Summary: While staying at Monroe's house, Nick realizes he doesn't know his best friend's name. One-shot fluff, takes place during season and really doesn't comply with the rest of the series slash, N/M


Monroe tried to ignore the feeling that he was being watched intently, but it was a difficult task. He'd taken his care with dinner, trying to get every bit of the vegetarian meal just right. Nick wasn't really much of a veggie kind of guy, so it was a real trial to put together something he might enjoy that wouldn't be harmful to his own Wieder sentiments. It was the sort of thing you did when you were in love with your best friend-turned-roommate. Besides, he was from a long chain of clockmakers. Attention to small details was quite literally in the blood.

Which was why he couldn't ignore the constant close scrutiny.

Monroe let out an annoyed sigh and dropped his spoon to his half-finished bowl of tomato soup, homemade from scratch, thank you very much. "What is it, Nick?" he asked, trying and possibly failing, to keep the tension from his tone.

Nick's beautiful eyes were narrowed in his direction, his left hand a loose grip around a spoon that hadn't yet made it to the bowl for a first sip. He tipped his head to the side, like a curious puppy, and wasn't that just ironic? Likening his Grimm friend to a dog when he was the one over here fighting his Blutbad urges on a daily basis. "What's your name?" Nick asked, the simple question pulling Monroe from the doomed track his train of thoughts had followed.

"Nick, seriously?" Monroe said when he finally managed to form words through his surprise. "We've been friends for what? A year now?" He trailed off when he realized his Grimm was giving him a familiar look, the exasperated one that said he was saying too much and nothing all at the same time. He rolled his eyes. "Monroe."

Nick smiled, saying without words that he thought Monroe was being deliberately obtuse. "Your first name, Monroe," he clarified, tapping his spoon lightly against the bowl. Then he dropped the spoon entirely, rubbing his hand against his forehead as if he could feel an oncoming headache. "It's the strangest thing, you know. I've seen your license. I've got a few of your business cards in my wallet. I've even watched you sign for some of those packages you're always getting. How do I not know your first name?"

Monroe shrugged, finishing off his soup as Nick mused aloud. It wasn't that he didn't have a first name. No, that would have been ridiculous. Everyone had a first name. Truthfully, his given, middle and last names were all first names, but he supposed it was his given name Nick was trying to remember. Maybe it should have bothered him, that Nick didn't know it. But when he thought about it, the name had never really come up in conversation. It had just never really been important. Everyone had always called him Monroe, even his parents. He was just Monroe.

Still, he wasn't so evolved that he didn't secretly shiver at the thought of Nick spending any length of time trying to figure it out. So he stood, gathering the dishes of his finished meal and walking them back to the kitchen for a quick rinse. "It's a mystery. Let me know when you figure it out, man," he finally answered Nick's query, and grinned to himself at the loud protests from the dining room.

Then Nick was at the door, his pile of dishes less tidy and still covered in bits of food. "That's not right, Monroe. So full of answers and this is the one you won't talk about?" Monroe grinned, shrugged, and jogged upstairs to his own room. Even if it was only for a little while, that he was taking up his precious Grimm's thoughts made him feel light, like a teenager in love rather than the middle-aged clock repair man with a deep crush.

Monroe wasn't just good with clocks, he was the best. Angelina used to make fun of him for getting so excited about brands and types and materials. She hadn't understood. Neither did Nick, really, but the man never said anything about it, only smiling in a way that let Monroe know he was who he was and Nick was good with it. It was one of the many reasons Monroe loved the other man.

Just not right now.

He was in the middle of fixing a 200 year old masterpiece, tools moving quickly and precisely, eyes narrowed with focus, when the jarring ring of his phone broke through the air, interrupting not only his work but the calming sound of many clocks ticking in close unison. He froze, eyes flicking to the phone only briefly before landing back on the disassembled clock at his hands. The tiniest bit of hope that he'd only imagined the ring vanished as he closed his eyes against another. Carefully he set his tools down, let out one resigned sigh, and picked up the phone.

Nick's name lit up with renewed ringing and he punched the answer button, sending a sorrowful look to the clockworks spread across his desk. "Hello, Nick," he greeted the man. If his Grimm noticed that the words were a little less enthusiastic than usual, he made no remark, instead quickly launching into a description of his and Hank's latest case. It didn't take long to figure that Nick was calling for more than just a piece of advice, and he stood, throwing on his jacket and grabbing for his keys before his Grimm had even finished telling him where to meet.

Hours later, the three of them sporting scrapes and cuts but otherwise none the worse for the wear, Monroe walked from his kitchen to his living room, ignoring the light limp that came as a result of being tossed into a tree, two bottles of his favorite German beer in one hand and one in the other. Hank accepted the cold drink with a muttered praise of thanks to God. Nick took it with nothing more than a grateful smile. It wrenched at Monroe's gut and he took a quick swig of his own drink before settling with a soft groan of pain into his favorite chair.

Hank hadn't actually taken a drink from his bottle, instead holding the cold glass to his temple, where a bruise was sure to form despite the chill. "I've had easier fights," he said, his wry observation breaking the silence.

"Tougher ones, too," Monroe pointed out, and they all raised their beers in an ironic toast, Nick with a slight grimace. Monroe didn't need to be a mind reader to know his Grimm was thinking back on the Siegbarst fight. They spent the better part of the next hour talking, laughing when it didn't hurt too much, just sharing stories of battles past. Monroe thought if they had a fire raging between them, it might be the sort of thing his ancestors had done. Of course, those stories might have involved a lot more killing of the innocents rather than protecting them.

It was only after Hank headed out, waving off their concerns about his injuries, that Nick turned on Monroe, that same thoughtful look on his face that he'd last seen during the dinner he couldn't seem to get out of his mind. "What?" Monroe asked after several moments of, at least for him, awkward silence.

"Is it David?" Nick asked, and followed Monroe through the kitchen when the other man rolled his eyes and walked away. "Silas?" he tried and Monroe only shook his head as he pulled another beer from his fridge, pulling on the bit of metal to pop the lid. He'd managed a sip before Nick guessed, "Eddie?"

"Eddie?" he echoed in disgust when he stopped coughing long enough to manage actual words.

"Come on, Monroe, I'm trying here. Can't you just give me a hint?" His eyes were wide and pleading, a look that was entirely too appealing on the man, and Monroe let his gaze skitter away, looking hard at the ceiling as he considered. Well, gave in actually. There was no real considering to be done when Nick Burkhardt looked at a man like that.

He hadn't even managed to open his mouth to answer before Nick plucked the cold beer from his hands, taking a long drag. Monroe stared, quickly shutting his mouth. Because as soon as his thoughts shuffled past the initial issue of hygiene, all he could think was that Nick's lips looked amazing wrapped around that bottle. And when he forced his thoughts past _that_ , his mind sort of stuttered to a halt because Nick was drinking from the same bottle he'd just used. It horribly high school girl-ish, but Monroe thought, for just the briefest second before writing it off as pure ridiculousness, that you didn't do that sort of thing unless you liked someone.

Whatever the case, and whatever his thoughts, Monroe found himself in the quite unusual state of speechlessness. So he smiled, in what he hoped was a mysterious way but probably came out more constipated than anything else, and he left the room. Nick could have the beer; he was going to have a cold shower.

His foot tapped with a rapid beat that would have been quickly annoying if he'd been hitting anything more firm that simple air. He tried to read the words of the book in his hands, but the letters sort of blurred together into one long run on string of incomprehensible nonsense. Heat gathered at the back of his neck, itching just under his hair, and he shifted uncomfortably on his old couch.

Monroe was agitated.

And nothing he could think to say or do, none of his usual distractions, did anything to lessen the feeling. Nick, his Nick, his Grimm with the beautiful smile, was having dinner with Juliette.

It should have been ok. Juliette was regaining her memories, including the part about loving Nick. And poor Nick, who'd been waiting so long for this kind of breakthrough, well, he had to just be over the moon, didn't he? And Monroe wanted them to be happy. He caused enough bad endings in his lifetime to know when there needed to be a good one. Nick deserved it, more than anyone else.

And that made him miserable.

Which made him agitated.

Which was why he was giving up on any sort of reading. With a grunt of annoyance, Monroe tossed the book carelessly to the side, hardly noting that it landed upright against the back of the couch, pages fluttering until gravity closed the book for him. The usually comforting sound of his clocks grated on his nerves as he passed, counting every minute, every second. Nick had left for his date nearly two hours ago. That qualified as a good date, which meant there was going to be more going on there. Monroe tried not to be sick at the thought.

It didn't work. His stomach was a roiling mess and just now he was really regretting that tomato risotto he'd had for lunch.

He tried to remind himself that, as often as he'd thought the words, Nick wasn't his Grimm, not really.

It didn't matter. His chest still felt tight with anxiety.

He wanted Nick to be happy. He wanted Juliette to be happy. Just not together. Was it possible? Monroe wasn't sure, but it didn't seem likely. And he would never know if Nick didn't come home tonight.

Or else, he would know if Nick didn't come home tonight.

He paced the length of his house from one end to the other. He tried working on a commission he'd been putting off for the last few days. Then he paced again. There may or may not have been a failed attempt at relaxing involving several beers and the first half of a hockey game, but Monroe paid so little attention as to be unable to name either of the teams.

When the door handle jiggled and the sound of the hinges creaking echoed through the house, Monroe stood from his chair and stared as Nick entered the foyer, realizing too late that he seemed a little too much like the loyal dog waiting for his master. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look casual, quite sure that he was failing.

Nick's head was bent, his bangs falling across his forehead and almost to his eyes. He really needed a trim, but that wasn't important now, was it? "How'd it go?" Monroe asked, fearful of the answer. That Nick was home at all was a good sign. Maybe. Or not. He felt more indecisive than Bud, and Monroe scrambled to gather his thoughts. Nick was going to need him, no matter what had happened on this date, and he'd be no good if he was so stuck in his own head that he couldn't listen to what his Grimm might say.

Nick lifted his head, the move sudden and his eyes wide, as if he was surprised to see Monroe so late. His hair was mussed and his button-up shirt loose at the collar, but there'd been plenty enough hard days at the station that had the same effect on the man's appearance that Monroe couldn't say with any certainty if it had simply been a rough night or a fun one.

Then his eyes fell from Monroe's gaze to the bottles of beer on the coffee table and his face broke out with a tired but relieved smile. He moved forward, stepping around Monroe easily as he dropped to the couch. "Needed one of these," Nick said out loud and reached out to grab an unopened bottle. He snapped it open and took a long swallow from it as Monroe sank back to his chair, grabbing for his own half-empty bottle but not bothering to raise it.

Monroe waited patiently for Nick to finish. The other man leaned back and let his hand fall, the bottle dangling from his fingers as he stared up to the ceiling. "She made my favorite dinner," Nick finally said, his eyes moving rapidly as if he was seeing something more than the old white paint above them. "She looked beautiful, and she was happy to see me." His eyes closed and Monroe's heart sank, fingers trembling on the neck of his bottle. He didn't want to hear this, he really didn't. "We talked for hours, about her and me and the whole Grimm thing," he waved his free hand vaguely in the air. "And she was great. She really was. She wants to know everything." Monroe set his bottle on a coaster and pulled his hands back so that Nick wouldn't see the tremors past the arms of his chair.

"It should have been the same as always, better even." Nick trailed off and lifted his hand to finish off his beer. "Perfect." Monroe's heart was pounding in his chest and he held his breath, afraid of what Nick might say. Afraid of what Nick might not say. Then his Grimm let out a sigh, shaking his head and shoving a hand through his hair in a way that mussed it even more. "But there was something missing, Monroe." Nick dropped his hand again, those long fingers playing with the seam of his pants leg. "She's changed, or I've changed, or both," he shrugged, "but something wasn't right."

Monroe nodded, murmuring something he hoped sounded sympathetic though his heart was pounding away and his mind was going a mile a minute trying to process what this could all mean. Nick pushed himself up from the couch and headed for the stairs. "Thanks, Monroe," the Grimm told him, voice low and sincere. That hand settled warmly on his shoulder, a tight squeeze that showed his appreciation for the listening ear almost as much as the words themselves.

Monroe nodded, smiling his same got-your-back smile even though he could feel his heart breaking just a little. He'd wanted Nick to be happy, whether or not he somehow figured into the mix. Just now, his friend seemed so sad. Nick patted his shoulder and stepped away, moving approximately three feet before he spun on the heel of his shoe and came back.

There was no warning, no preamble to the situation, just Nick leaning over the arm of Monroe's chair and pressing their lips together in a sudden kiss. Startled, Monroe pulled away, half-rising from his chair when Nick stumbled a few steps back. "Sorry," the other man said quickly. "Sorry if that was weird, but just… I had to try it just the once." He turned again, moving hastily for the relative privacy of his room.

Monroe caught him at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing his arm and spinning Nick to face him. He registered the too-wide eyes and the damp sheen that meant tears had built up before he returned that kiss, one hand slipping around Nick's lean waist to hold him closer, the other sliding to bury itself in the hair at the back of Nick's head, neither inclined to let the man go. And Nick, his Grimm, held on just as tightly, fingers digging roughly into Monroe's back, clenching and pulling at his flannel shirt and the Hensley beneath as though he couldn't wait for those thin barriers to be gone.

Lips sealed tight, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, and Monroe drank it all in like a man lost in the desert for a week. He gave every bit of himself in return, trying with only this kiss to convey to Nick all the love he hadn't dared confess out loud. And Nick, his Nick, sighed and smiled like he understood every unspoken word.

They stumbled up the steps, losing a shoe here and a shirt there so that by the time they'd made it to Monroe's room and fell back onto his bed, they were both naked. Every sound Nick made, every gasp and moan and groan, every time he cried or whimpered or whispered Monroe's name into the dark, Monroe memorized it and logged it away in his brain with all those other important thoughts, like the best way to repair the mechanics of a 100 year old Black Forest cuckoo 3-weight masterwork of German design or the fastest way to take out an angry trio of weapon-wielding Verrat-sanctioned Hundjaeger assassins, to be pulled out and remembered easily at any given moment, because whatever happened in the morning, when they were both a little more sober and a little less tense, Monroe never wanted to forget this night.

He woke up the next morning, back and legs just a little sore from the night's activities, a testament to his age, and he said nothing, content to just watch the man sleeping next to him, hair dark against the white pillows, bite marks vivid on tan skin. His marks. His Grimm. And Monroe smiled.

Nick woke later, stirring slightly and grimacing a little at the move. Then he shifted to look at Monroe, still lying in the bed next to him. "Was that weird?" Monroe asked. He hadn't meant to say it out loud and now that the words hung in the air between them, his mouth picked it up and just ran with it. "That was weird, right? Because you're you and you're… well, you're perfect actually and a Grimm," he continued, frowned and he started to push up from the bed. He was horrified by what he was saying but there didn't seem to be an off button and he just kept going, "And a guy and I'm me, which hasn't really brought me a lot of success in this department over the years and a Blutbad and a guy too and this was actually the fir-" Nick was kissing him again, a strong arm around his neck pulling him back to the warmth of a shared bed. Monroe pulled away, just enough to see Nick's eyes, stuck somewhere between blue and grey, and asked, "Are you sure? I mean, I'm sure, but… Juliette…"

"Isn't you," Nick finished for him and leaned up to seal their lips together like a promise. "You're the one who's always there for me, Monroe. You're the one who got me hooked on German beer, and farmer's market veggies. You're the one who taught me how to be a Grimm and you're the one who's always got my back, which might not be the status quo," he admitted with a little shrug and his gaze flickered to the side for a moment before coming back to Monroe's with a secretive smile curling at his lips, "but then, you've never been a status quo kind of guy anyway." Nick's arms linked behind his back and he pressed their foreheads together. "You're the one I love, Monroe."

And wasn't that just like his Nick, to say it so casual he might as well have been asking for the time. Still, it sent waves of pleasure rippling down Monroe's back that had nothing to do with the fact that this man, this brave, clever, perfect man was beneath him, naked as the day he was born. Well, almost nothing. Monroe slipped his arms around Nick, burying his face in the crook of his Grimm's shoulder.

"James," he said, the only response he thought he could give to such a declaration, and he felt Nick's confusion in the still of those hands on his back. So he looked up, meeting Nick's gaze. He shifted to kiss his love, pausing with their lips only a breath apart. "James…Christian… Monroe," he breathed, watching the effect the words had on his Nick. A flush rose in those stubbled cheeks, spreading to his ears and down his neck. And when he smiled, Monroe might as well have been a teenager for how fast he reacted. And the next set of memories he logged away carried his full name, three first names strung together for the first time since before he could remember and kept secret, except for moments like this, with a man who would never forget.

 **A/N: So I got a really big promotion at work and haven't had time for anything but work and sleep. Still, this got in my head and stayed there, so I let it out. I'll regret in in a few hours when I have to wake up, but right now, I'm happy with the fluff!**


End file.
